


Will-O-Wisp

by erestor



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Paranormal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded in the Dead Marches, Erestor muses about his loss and how to cope with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will-O-Wisp

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Eveiya.

Erestor had lost the way. This was embarrassing for an Elf at the best of times, but straying off the path in a moor at night was also very dangerous. One wrong step, and he might be pulled under the surface by quicksand, or have his ankle pierced by dead wood.

Like all Elves, Erestor had a special bond with nature. He understood the singing of the trees and could read their leaves, and any other moor would not have caused him distress. But these were the Dead Marshes, where so many of his people had died. Their corpses were still buried here, denied the purifying heat of the funeral pyres.

This place was treacherous. The reed was whispering, promising to guide him to safety, but Erestor did not dare to trust it.

Why had he come here in the first place? Erestor huddled under a bush, wrapped tightly in his cloak to protect from the drizzling rain. He had reached a turning point in his life. And he felt that he had to let go of this place here first before he could move on.

A great battle had raged here ages ago but, to Erestor, it seemed like yesterday. He could still hear the noise of the raging war, and the cries of the mortally wounded still echoed through the peaty air. His lover had been right in the middle of the battle, and if it had not been for his sword and spear, Erestor would probably not have survived the day.

So many had lost their lives here; it was impossible to recover their bodies. Erestor had tried it anyway, of course. In the dead of night, he and Elrond had returned to the battleground, trying to find their king. They could not bear the thought that he would be left behind.

Erestor had been driven by the fear that he would not find the body of his beloved at all. Elrond had accompanied him because he felt it was his duty. They both shared the fear of actually finding Gil-galad, though it was something neither of them would have admitted. Who could tell what sight would greet them, after all?

While Erestor's thoughts wandered back to that horrible night, he mused for the umpteenth time if Gil-galad would have done the same for him. Probably not. He had been a pragmatic Elf, and it was unlikely that he would have risked his life to recover a corpse. Gil-galad had been a warrior through and through. Intelligent, proud, fearless - but also unpredictable, with a quick temper. It had been Elrond's considerate level-headedness and diplomatic skills that instituted the king's reputation of wisdom.

The fair folk knew nothing of Gil-galad's gentleness, reserved for Erestor only, behind locked doors. They also knew nothing of Elrond's pain, knew nothing of his sadness. While he sat over plans and strategies in the dead of night, marking the strongholds of the enemy on a map, the one who held his heart and soul licked the sweat off his lover's collarbone.

Gil-galad, as usual unable to focus on anything but his own person, had been ignorant of Elrond's feelings. Erestor, however, had known very well how his king's herald suffered. He had never approached Elrond about it, for what could he have done, anyway? There were no words to soothe a bleeding heart, and at the end of the day, all was fair in love and war.

He could not understand the motivation of Elrond's love, anyway. Maybe it was true, and opposites did attract? And, coming to think of it, what had been the driving force behind his own relationship with the High King? On Erestor's part, it had been love, hero-worship and the fascination of the secret, the forbidden.

As far as the king was concerned - well. After so many years, Erestor knew that a good part of pride of ownership was involved on Gil-galad's side. It had also been a battle of will, a constant competition between the two of them for predominance. Gil-galad was a born leader, possessive; he did not share what he considered to be his. And Erestor let no opportunity pass to show Gil-galad that he did not share what was his, either.

"I rather have it that we both would die than that I lose you," he had said. Erestor had told Gil-galad that he would do as pleased him, and no Elf, be they peasant or High King, would be able to hold him back. So their bed had become quite often a battlefield rather than a place of love and passion. And both had liked it that way.

The force of the rain increased. The mist of the drizzle was replaced by heavy drops, and it did not take long for Erestor to become soaked to his bones. It was unpleasant, but the true danger lay within the moor, which soaked up the downpour like a sponge. The ground became wobbly, and Erestor could feel how his little sanctuary lost stability.

Erestor considered his situation. He could not stay here, he had to find his way through the moor and back to safe ground. But how to find a safe passage? Which path to chose?

It was that very moment he saw the lights, and cold fear enclosed his heart. His own people called them "corpse candles". Mortals called them "Elf lights", and it was said that the souls of the Elves who had fallen here and who were denied a proper funeral returned at night to lure the living into the moor and to certain death. All of this was nonsense, of course, and Elrond had explained more than once that there was very likely a natural explanation for the phenomenon, and that the dead did not bother the living. It was all superstitious nonsense.

Not that Erestor doubted Elrond's words, but sitting here all alone, on a night like this, in the middle of the Dead Marshes, with his life in danger, Erestor could not help but fall under the spell of said superstitious nonsense. The number of lights increased, and they did indeed flicker like hundreds of candles, teased by the wind.

Erestor was afraid. Those eerie lights scared him more than his grave situation. He tried hard to think of his lovely home, of sunshine and flowers, but his imagination only allowed frightening pictures of his dead brothers in arms to come to his mind. The wind had increased in force, and it seemed to Erestor as if he could hear voices. It was a whispering choir, trying to lure him first in one direction, then in another. Walk forward, turn left, go back. Erestor tried not to panic, but with his legs in the firm iron hold of the moor, and with a feeling of complete loneliness overwhelming him, he could not help but being more scared than he had ever been in his life.

Erestor took a deep breath. He could not allow himself to be taken over by fear. He needed a cool head and all his senses to escape this trap. It was not that difficult, after all - he only had to return the same way he had come. He made a few determined steps, only to realise that the way back looked completely different at night and that he had no idea where he was.

He clenched his jaw. There had to be a way, and he would find it! He walked in the direction where he assumed his horse and bags to be, but walking became increasingly difficult. With every step, he sunk in deeper, and it was rather exhausting to pull his feet out. The wet cloak hung around his shoulders like a heavy weight, and as it did not offer him any protection from the rain, anyway, he threw it off.

To Erestor, it seemed like hours that he wandered around the moor. The mud was knee-high. Erestor was exhausted, and the dancing lights, now gathered in a circle surrounding him, seemed to mock his fruitless efforts.

'The irony,' he thought. 'I came here because I wanted to begin my life anew, and now it seems like it will end. Valar, help me!'

As if answering his prayer, one of the lights left the circle, floating towards Erestor. It was a strong, steady light, and all others seemed to pale beside it. Erestor tried to look away, for it was said that those lights could make an Elf lose his will and mind.

But he could not turn away. He had to stare into the flame. There was a voice, whispering in his ear, a voice he knew only too well, though he had not heard it for ages.

"Follow me," it whispered. "Follow me, and I shall lead you to safety. Trust me, you know you can. Follow your king. Follow your lover."

Erestor wanted to trust him, wanted it so very, very much. It was true; there had been a time that voice had spoken of trust and love. But he also remembered well how despotically Gil-galad had been at times, how his view had rested on Erestor with the pride of the owner rather than the affection of a lover.

"If you cannot make up your mind, throw a coin, Erestor," the voice whispered.

"I do not have a coin with me," Erestor replied, then he shook his head. How absurd, holding such a conversation at this place and under these circumstances!

The voice chuckled, and Erestor shivered. He watched the light slowly floating across the march, mirroring in the black water.

"Follow me," the voice ordered.

Erestor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to make a crucial decision - either he would trust Gil-galad to lead him to safety, risking that his former lover would lure him into certain death, or he would stay here and risk losing his life as well.

Damned if he did, damned if he did not.

"Very well then," he said, straightening up. "At least I shall die among warriors, if my time should have come."

Erestor made a determined step forward. The light jumped from left to right, like a jester performing a silly dance, mocking him. But Erestor did not falter.

It was a long, gruelling way. Over and over, Erestor would sink in the mud, exhausting his strength by pulling out and continuing his way. He looked neither left nor right, ignoring the chorus of voices which tried to convince him not to follow the light, but to trust them instead, for they would lead him to safety. Faces formed in the mist, faces of friends long dead, only to metamorphosise into harrowing grimaces before they disappeared.

After what seemed to him like hours, Erestor felt the ground under his feet solidifying. The mist thinned, and when he finally reached the place where his horse was waiting for him, he sank to his knees and buried his hands in the wet grass. For a long time, he could not move, and he gulped in the cold air so frantically that his lungs hurt and his heart seemed about to explode.

When his body finally decided to work normally again, Erestor turned around and looked over his shoulder. The light was hovering over the place where the solid land merged into the moor. He could not tell why, but Erestor knew that this was the frontier Gil-galad was not allowed beyond.

With the last strength he could muster, Erestor crawled up and mounted his horse, patting the warm coat of the animal. His steed neighed, and Erestor felt like his loyal horse had connected him with life again.

"I will return to Imladris now," Erestor said, addressing the light. "Elrond is waiting for me. He has been waiting for me a long time."

The light flickered, as if agreeing with Erestor.

The Elf took the reigns, preparing to leave.

"I will tell him that I... that I finally have arrived home. Thank you."

For the last time, Erestor looked at his saviour, then he clicked his tongue, pulled on the reins and his horse carried him into the darkness, away from his past and toward a new life and a new love.

The light did not move, it seemed to wait for the last echo of the galloping horse to fade away. Other lights began to gather; first tens, then hundreds, finally thousands of them. Gil-galad's light began to pulsate, brighter and brighter, until, with a beatific sigh, it exploded in a myriad of light beams and disappeared.

The other lights flickered. Then, one by one, they disappeared, sad because one of them had gone, but also hopeful that, one day, they might be able to let go and finally find peace as well.


End file.
